


Brownies & Blondies

by cupcakefingers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cooking, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Steve Rogers, Past Sexual Abuse, Roommates, Slow Burn, The Author definitely spent too much time researching baking companies and flat prices, old women in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakefingers/pseuds/cupcakefingers
Summary: After his mother's death, Steve cannot deal with life in Brooklyn, so he decides to just screw it - pick a random location in the USA and move. Without a plan. Or a job. Or a place to live. Or that much money... Adding insult to injury, his depressive episodes get worse day by day.“You’re kidding me, right? Why the hell would you want to work here? People run away from Indiana to New York, not other way around!”Steve shrugged. “Guess I’m bad at running.”
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Irene Adler (X-Men)/Raven | Mystique, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	1. Something Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings will be marked in specific chapters and described in endnotes!

“Are you absolutely sure you want to leave, Steve?” A female voice snapped him back from his thoughts.

  
“I’m sure, Aunt Peggy. I’ll be fine, I promise. And I’m sorry.”

  
He smiled politely at the woman who helped him so much lately, after his mother - _Sarah_ \- passed away. They hugged, and Steve immediately relaxed in a coat of her perfume. As far as he could remember, Aunt Peggy used the same brand of fragrance, it had a dark blue bottle and smelled like peaches, and violets, and maybe a bit like jasmine. She was the only person who smelled like that and those perfumes always made him feel safe.

  
“You know I’ll still worry about you. That’s what aunts do.”

  
She released him and fixed her silver strands back into her perfect vintage hairdo she wore since the late ‘50s. At least that’s what Sarah used to say.

  
Steve let out a heavy sigh that became shaky at the end, then threw the prepared duffle bag over his shoulder and got inside the bus, trying not to look back at the second most important woman in his life. He sat near the end, close to the window- opposite to the side where _she_ stood. He managed to hold himself together for a total of 17 seconds after the bus took off.

  
It was _almost_ a lottery where he was going to go- or run away, as Peggy kindly put it. He made a ball of wet toilet paper and threw it blindly at the US map on his wall. It stuck roughly to Chicago area, but Steve really didn’t want to go to Chicago, so he decided the paper stuck to Indiana. What was the largest city in Indiana? Indianapolis, of course, so that’s how the decision was made. Two hours from that, Steve booked a bus going the next day from Brooklyn. Fifteen minutes after that, he told Aunt Peggy about his decision, she spent the next 20 minutes yelling at him, then helped him pack.

  
After Sarah’s death, the two of them found a jar under her bed. Inside there was a small folded piece of paper saying ‘For Stevie, I love you’ and a bunch of cash in various states. Mostly coins, but also a solid amount of five and ten dollar notes, there were two fifties and a hundred. Peggy told him to keep the cash because she wanted to take care of the funeral, all of it. Steve agreed because he was barely thinking about anything at the time.

  
On the day of his departure, his aunt slipped a wad of fives into his jacket when she thought he wasn’t looking, and he was too tired to argue with her. Steve started counting it out of boredom, on the 13th hour of driving. It was roughly 500 dollars, so around 8 nights at a decent hotel with a private bathroom, maybe more if he’d take a bed in a room with strangers. In Sarah’s jar, there was more or less 380 dollars, minus 100 for the bus. If he’s lucky, he shouldn’t struggle too much before finding a job.

  
Steve was pretty sure he survived the 23-hour trip purely because of his depression, which made him numb to surrounding noise and black out for short periods when he was pretty sure he wasn’t asleep.

  
_Finally something good out of it._

  
After all, that was the reason he decided to leave Brooklyn. Depression, born (or rather returning twice as strong) from grief after Sarah’s death. He thought maybe if there will be nothing reminding him of his mother around, it will be easier. Maybe if he had mundane problems, like where to sleep or does he has money for food, he’d stop thinking about Sarah. But good god, he was so glad Indiana was not that far from New York, he had no idea what he would do if the toilet paper stuck to California or Montana or even Texas. Not many other travellers- that was also good, apparently, the beginning of March wasn’t the best travelling season.

  
He got out on the Greyhound station, getting blinded by the sharp sun and stung by freezing wind. Great, mother nature was also against him. Steve’s jaw tightened, he pulled up the collar of his jacket, and started walking towards the nearby hotel he checked out the day before.

  
It wasn’t that bad, he imagined it to be way worse. His room was very small but clean -or at least it looked clean- the heating worked and the bathroom was only partially covered in mold. A solid portion of the walls was decorated with dark irregular spots, but the shower looked safe. The worst part was the bed. It was a very cheap mattress that was so soft, you could feel the metal springs inside of it and to add insult to injury- the size was all kinds of wrong. Steve knew he grew up to be a pretty big guy, but he was hanging out of the bed up to the half of his calf, and the width barely fit his shoulders. Eating dinner there wasn’t worth the risk and unfortunately, the hotel’s prices of coffee were also not worth the risk.

  
Steve decided that he’ll spend the first day at resting after the long journey, so he found a store, bought a small bottle of vodka, downed it in his bed, then fell asleep for 18 hours, being sure he’ll regret it in the morning. And he did. He woke up after 10 AM, extremely tired, even more than he felt the day before. He ended up running to the bathroom three times in the span of an hour, each time with a different purpose, none of it pleasant.

  
Then he thought he had a fever, because of cold sweats, incredible headache and shivers, so in a haze, he decided to take off yesterday’s clothes and take a burning hot shower. It did help a little, but as soon as the water stopped, the lack of energy hit him with double force.

  
Steve got out the bathroom naked, without drying himself, despite towels being right next, and returned to his nest under the covers, where he spent the entire day. He was mentally punching himself the whole evening, because of his guilt of not leaving the bed, then fell asleep again. He woke up with a hurting bladder since not allowing himself to go to the bathroom was his way of punishing his body. He cursed and spend the next few hours in the bathroom before feeling better.

  
_I spent two whole days sleeping and feeling sorry for myself, and I paid for it. What the fuck is wrong with me._

  
It was morning and he felt decent enough to take another shower, brush his teeth and get dressed. There were two mirrors inside the room and he covered both of them with towels to not have to look at himself. He knew how he looked like. Like a sick homeless disaster. After searching his bag for cash, he found two large bright orange bottles. His pills. That he should’ve been taking, but was not - Peggy must’ve slipped them in. Steve cursed, before discarding the bottles and sitting on his bed, face hidden in hands. His stomach rumbled and he realized he hasn’t been eating for almost three days now, not counting that vodka bottle.

  
With a heavy sigh, he forced his body to get up. He stood for a couple of minutes, mentally preparing himself for going out. He put on his shoes and the jacket, before remembering the cold air and putting an additional hoodie underneath. He looked at the scarf that was neatly packed by Peggy in the side pocket of his duffle.

  
_I don’t deserve a scarf. Why did I put on this hoodie, I should freeze to death out there._

  
He stood there for a beat, then grunted, annoyed, “Don’t feel sorry for yourself, get the damn scarf, you fucking dumbass.”

  
Steve closed the room’s door, fixed his scarf, got to the reception and paid for another two days- fortunately, the whole place was almost empty. He asked the receptionist if there are any food places around (since if he barely had the energy to get up, he was definitely not going to cook). There was a diner four blocks away from the hotel with some super-deal on ‘breakfast of the day’ which turned out to be waffles with poached eggs. Steve hated poached eggs because they reeked of vinegar, but since he just wasted around a hundred on doing absolutely nothing… good enough. The waffles were good, or at least he thought so because all food seemed kinda bland lately.

  
He got out after leaving a tip and started walking, not knowing what to do with himself. Because what the fuck was he thinking. He was not functioning like a proper person, he refused to take his meds for some stupid reason, he run away from the financial stability of having a loaded aunt that loves him above anything else and having a home with no mortgages. And how could he think in this mental state he’s going to find a job-

  
“Hey, watch it!”

  
His brain registered a collision a good few seconds after it happened. Steve quickly turned, face full of regret, ready to apologize. The first thing he noticed, well, he collided with a man. The second thing was that because of his lack of attention, the man spilled his coffee on his denim jacket. And he was pissed.

  
“What the fuck?! Watch how you walk you fucking asshole!” he yelled.

  
“Oh god, I’m so sorry! I can pay for the cleaning, let me just-”

  
“Fuckin’ quit it,” the man barked, turned on his heel and paced away, angrily throwing away the cup.

  
Steve felt like crying. Good start of the day. There was anxiety piling up in his chest, his head felt light and there was distant ringing in his ears. He stumbled on the pavement and almost fell, then quickly ducked into an alleyway.

  
“Oh my god, come on, please, not now,” he breathed out, trying to keep it under control, “Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven,” he counted down to eighty-six before managing to calm down, tears blurring his vision.

  
His hand flew inside the pocket to grab the phone before he stopped himself. How pathetic it would be to call Aunt Peggy right now. After doing nothing for two days, the only thing he managed to do was almost having a public panic attack and spilling a coffee on some poor guy. His hand lingered on the phone’s casing, so he forced it out and started scratching, really hard, to stop it from moving. Someone grabbed both his arms before the marks turned from pink to red.

  
“Hey, easy there, buddy.”

  
Steve gasped at the intrusion and tried focusing on the person who stopped him.

  
“Easy, yeah?” Blue eyes. Pale skin. Short blond hair. Looked similar to Steve or how Steve looked like before turning into a- “Let’s get you outta here, garbage air’s not good for panic attacks.”

  
“I’m not-”

  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on the other side of the street, not many people there, come on.”

  
Steve let the man drag to the store nearby, which turned out to be a sports shop. There was no one inside, but it didn’t mean there was space, no, most of the area was cluttered with bikes, tennis rackets and overall sports equipment. The man pulled him behind the counter and sat down in the corner, in a way Steve would have eyes on the entrance.

  
“Hey-hey, focus on me, yeah?” Steve tried, but his eyes were shaky. The man had a dinosaur band-aid on his forehead, above his left eyebrow. “Here, have some water.”

  
He took the bottle and downed it in three big gulps, it made him calm down a _little_ bit.

  
“You better now?” the man asked and Steve nodded, making him smile a big grin. “Awesome. My name’s Clint, what’s yours?”

  
“Emm-S-Steve?”

  
“You’re asking me?” Clint chuckled, “Nice to meet you, Steve. You had a panic attack back there? Your first time?”

  
Steve sighed, shame dripping down his head, “I-It wasn’t a panic attack. Not yet at least, but um… no. Wasn’t the first and wasn’t the last time.”

  
“Heh, it’s alright, buddy. How’re you feeling?”

  
He could lie. Tell that everything’s good now and he has to go. He didn’t want to.

  
“Shaky.”

  
“ _Shaky_ , huh? Okay,” Clint grabbed a stool from under the counter and sat in front of Steve, “You live nearby?”

  
“In a hotel,” he breathed.

  
“Hotel? Where you're from?”

  
“New York. Brooklyn.”

  
“I was in Brooklyn once! What a shithole.” Steve snorted, making Clint visibly happy. “So what’re you doing in Indiana? Vacation? Visiting someone?”

  
“Not really, I’m here to work.”

  
Clint made a weird expression of disbelief and condescension. They both paused to look at someone peeking through the window, then going on their way. While Clint's head was turned sideways, Steve noticed a huge violet earpiece- a hearing aid, probably.

  
“You’re kidding me, right? Why the hell would you want to work here? People run away _from_ Indiana _to_ New York, not other way around!”

  
Steve shrugged. “Guess I’m bad at running.”

  
“From someone or yourself?” He looked up, confused. “You’re running away from someone or from yourself?”

  
Steve fell silent. Great, existential questions- though he had thought about it, mostly during the bus ride. On one hand, he knew he would go fucking mental if he stayed in that house, his thoughts wouldn’t have given him any slack. He was scared he would do something to himself. But there is always the other hand, so what was he running away from if not himself? Well, Peggy, for one thing, she basically lived there and even though she was sweet and considerate, and she wasn’t really bothering him in any way… Steve had no idea why she got under his skin. Could have been one more person. Sarah. Or Sarah’s corpse, since she was dead. No way of distancing himself from his own dead relative like running away to a foreign place and starting a new life. He sighed.

  
“I don’t know. Just needed to get out of there.” Clint nodded because apparently, it was enough of an answer for him.

  
“Go it. So what’s your plan? You’re here, you’re in a hotel, you got your first breakdown, what now?”

  
_Stick to the plan._

  
“I wanted to find a job, then rent a flat, and… that’s it, I guess.”

  
Now that he said it out loud, it was kinda embarrassing. Would have been much more compelling if he had a mission, like scattering Sarah’s ashes or pissing on his father’s grave of some shit. If he even had a grave, Steve wasn’t sure whether his father was alive or not. But again, the answer didn’t seem to be questionable for the chirpy guy in front of him.

  
“Alright, when did you arrive?”

  
“Day before yesterday.”

  
“How’d the job hunt go?”  
  


_Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh._

  
“Not… good.”

  
“Okay! Then it’s settled!” Clint beamed, slapping his knee, then got up and yelled towards the backdoor, “Kate, get your ass in here, I’m taking a break!”

  
“What the fuck?” a feminine voice responded with a mixture of surprise and annoyance and just as said ‘Kate’ seemed to get closer, Clint grabbed Steve’s arm and dragged out of the shop.

  
“Love you, I’ll buy you some cake! Bye!” he yelled, before running out of windows’ sight, “Come on, Steve.”

  
“Where are we goin’?” Steve asked shakily, while his mind helpfully reminded him that he left the empty water bottle on the counter and now this Kate girl will have to clean it up for him and she will be even more annoyed because of him and she was already annoyed because apparently, Clint left his work for Steve and he felt guilty because he was causing problems-

  
“To get you a job.”

  
_What?_

  
“What?”

  
Clint turned again, sending him a nice smile and there were crinkles around his eyes and for some reason, he didn’t let him go so now they were walking arm in arm and Steve thought Clint was kinda cute and then he felt bad again because Clint was just a really great guy who just wanted to help him and Steve’s disgusting hormones had to make it awkward for him. Even though Clint didn’t seem to be bothered. 

  
“I know a place that’s looking for an assistant-slash-cashier-slash-cleaning lady.”

  
_That’s a lot…_

  
“Why are you helping me?” Steve asked.

  
“Because it must be hard.” They stopped. “You move without a plan to another state, you don’t have a place or a job. That means you made the decision pretty quickly and you _had to_ make it. And on top of that - you apparently have attacks. My mom has those, I don’t know if for your it’s depression, anxiety, some phobia or what but it must be hard for you and I can do something or at least try to help.”

  
Steve fell silent, not knowing what to say, guilt -once again- building up in his chest. Maybe Clint doesn’t have an ulterior motive, maybe he’s just a good person. If it’s the latter, then holy shit this pseudo-friendship was a jackpot in his current situation. Steve sent him a weak smile and they started walking again.

  
“What kind of place is that?”

  
“A~ bakery? I think? Sorta, kinda.”

  
Oh no, this was going to be a disaster, Steve couldn’t even be responsible for his own breakfast and definitely couldn’t be trusted with knives.

  
“Clint, I don’t know how to cook. Not even talking about baking.”

  
“Hey, don’t worry, you won’t have to know.” Steve wanted to ask how, if he was going to be an assistant in a bakery, but Clint continued, “Besides, he probably won’t allow you anywhere near the kitchen- What kind of brownies do you like?”

  
“Huh?”

  
“Fudgy?”

  
He didn’t really like them at all, to be honest… However, it is important to say he only tried store-bought kinds and wasn’t that impressed. It’s a cake, made with chocolate. Sweet like hell, he didn’t like things that are too sweet and in America sugar is added to everything, in large quantities. He liked Peggy’s lemon blondies - the white chunks of chocolate were the only sweet thing in these cakes and there weren’t many of them.

  
Clint was making him choose the lesser of two sugary evils. He thought fudge being a more popular option.

  
“Fudgy.”

  
“Fudgy it is- and we’re here!” They halted in front of a small shop with large windows in black frames and just got inside, when Clint yelled, “Hey, sweetie, how you doin'? The usual for me and one cream fudge for my friend!”

  
“On it, Barton!” A sharp male voice came from the kitchen, the owner of said voice not visible to anyone coming in.

  
Clint took Steve’s hand and sat with him at the table furthest from the entrance. Steve anxiously run fingers through his hair and looked around. The place was nice and small, but plain. It had simple white walls, almost no wall-decor. The round tables were black, but the counter seemed to be enveloped in a cheap wood-like sticker. 

  
There was a blackboard hanging behind the counter, stating prices in white chalk. No wonder Clint asked Steve what was his favourite brownie because apparently, that was the only thing the place was selling. There were three kinds: cakey, fudgy and mushy, whatever the last one meant, and a plethora of additions like whipped cream, cherry jam or desiccated coconut.

  
Every brownie was 3,50 dollars, and every extra was 50 cents. Wow. There’s no way this place works, the largest Steve spent on brownies was 5 bucks and that was for a ten-pack. Steve craned his neck to better see the contents of the small fridge. There were three rows with trays full of brownies, each of a different kind.

  
Suddenly there were steps and a man sprung out of the kitchen, quickly pulled two cakes onto small plates, then turned to the counter under the blackboard and started adding the ‘extras’ to them.

  
Steve’s jaw dropped. The cook was the guy he spilled coffee on, just this time his long hair were put up into a bun. There was a red bandana above his forehead and a white apron snugly fitted around his body.

  
“Okay, one cream fudge-” The man took a lid off something inside the counter and picked some red goo with a ladle, probably cherry jam, then grabbed a silver can and shook it, before spraying whipped cream on the cake. “And one mush with cherries, double cream, and rainbow sprinkles.”

  
Steve was so stunned he hadn’t noticed Clint going up to the counter with a huge grin, taking his wallet out.

  
“Hey, baby.”

  
“You’re lucky, Barton, I just made a new batch-” The man’s eyes shot to Steve and immediately narrowed. “Oh, it’s _you_.”

  
Clint looked between the two of them, while Steve wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. He could feel his cheeks getting warmer and warmer, and only hoped his beard would cover most of the blush.

  
“You know each other?” Barton, because that was apparently Clint’s surname, asked.

  
The baker hummed, “Yeah, that’s the asshole that spilled coffee on me before I got here.”

  
A reaction Steve did not expect from Clint, was to laugh his ass off, while he thought he’ll spontaneously combust from the man’s glare.

  
“Oh, fuck off, Barton,” the baker huffed, rolling his eyes, “Nine-fifty.”

  
“What? It should be a nine!”

  
“Cherries, double cream and sprinkles, that’s 2 bucks total.”

  
“Come on, man, you always give me a double for free,” Clint said with a coy smile.

  
“Not today. And you’re not tipping, so… nine-fifty.”

  
“I have nine,” Barton responded carefully after a moment.

  
Steve wanted to jump in, saying he can pay for himself, but then, the cake-guy gathered a solid portion of the whipped cream on two fingers and quickly put inside his mouth, sucking of them with an exaggerated moan, which punched a bit of air out of Steve’s lungs, but fortunately, neither of men have noticed.

  
“Mmm~, so good. Here, now it’s nine.”

  
He sent him a beautiful fake smile, while Clint grumpily paid and took both plates. The man walked out from behind the counter and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and chin slightly up. Steve couldn’t focus on the plate before him, he couldn’t stop staring at the baker, feeling so awful and asking in his mind why the hell did he have to suffer so much.

  
“So, Bucky - this is Steve, I met him today, and Steve - this grumpy cook is Bucky,” Clint said, digging into his desert.

  
“Umm… Nice to meet you,” Steve said, trying to sound steady, while Bucky only hummed.

  
 _He_ hummed _. He hummed instead of fucking responding. Oh god, oh fuck-_

  
“How did you two meet?” Bucky asked.

  
“Found him in front of my shop, helped him and here we are,” Clint responded with a full mouth.

  
“Helped him with what?”

  
“A problem,” Barton said dryly, looking seriously at the cook. Steve thanked him inside.  
  


Bucky raised an eyebrow but got the hint and immediately changed the subject. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work, Barton? Why are you bringing some random guy for a cake-date to _my_ place?”

  
“Found you a new employee!”

  
“What?” His stare moved to Clint, before quickly glancing back at Rogers. “Oh no, not a chance.”

  
“Come on! It’s just a jacket, and the poor guy really needs work. He just got here from New York and you have a vacancy - it’s a perfect coincidence!” Clint was so animated when he was speaking, also had a mouth full of cake.

  
“He walked into me in the middle of an empty sidewalk.” Bucky deadpanned. “Besides, that was my favourite fucking jacket, do you realize how hard is it to wash coffee stains of denim?”

  
_Oh!_

  
Steve remembered that he can actually do something about it. When he was younger, he used to drink a shitload of coffee and combined with his ability to spill everything everywhere, resulted with Peggy teaching him how to remove these stains from his jeans, just after the 5th time he came to her.

  
“I can help with that,” Steve finally spoke and they both looked at him. “With the jacket, I mean. I know a trick.”

  
Clint seemed agitated and excited, and Steve thought if he was a dog, he would be a lab.

  
“See? Look, let’s do it like this - if Steve manages to save your jacket, you’ll give him a chance, if not- we'll both fuck off. How does that sound?”

  
Bucky fell silent for quite a bit, staring down at Barton. Steve kind of already knew he would say no, so he just took this quiet moment to look at the cook.

  
He was quite tall, almost as tall as Steve and slightly more tanned. Sarah told him he’s pale because of his Irish roots so sun always made him resemble a lobster, while Bucky’s tan seemed ‘healthy’, as Peggy would put it. He was also bigger than Steve, overall. Wider. Not fat, but muscled in a way that made him look strong, especially his arms and thighs. His face, while having very nice features like a prominent nose or a sharp jawline, also seemed to make a certain expression. Like he could murder you at any moment or murder someone else in your defence. He was very attractive but also _very_ scary.

  
“Fine, if it makes you shut up, sure.” Bucky decided, then pointed a finger at Steve. “You, come with me.

  
Both him and Clint -who finished his cake and started Steve's- followed behind the counter and into the kitchen.”

  
The kitchen wasn’t very big but designed in a spacious-looking manner. Almost vis-a-vis entry, there was a large two-door metal fridge, next to it a set of also metal doors and another door, this time made of dark wood, with a ‘NO ENTRY’ sign on them. There were sinks on the right, along with a stove and what seemed to be a dishwasher, while on the left side, under the small windows, three sets of mixers on a long counter, placed between huge piles of baking products. In the middle, there was an island cluttered with trays, paper and other kitchen utensils and even though it seemed like a mess, it was a controlled mess. Everything had its place.

  
“Here’s the jacket.” Bucky threw it at Steve’s face and for a moment the only thing Steve could think about was how nice it smelled. Like grapefruit, birch leaves and herbs. Sarah loved perfumes so she taught Steve how to recognize the notes, even a specific brand flew through his head. “What do you need for that trick of yours?”

  
_Earth to Steve, stop being creepy._

  
“I need white vinegar, dish soap, some detergent if you have it, a washcloth and cold water.”

  
Steve laid the jacket near the sink and checked how bad is the situation. Well, kinda bad. The stain went all the way down, but fortunately only the right front part was damaged. All things were put inside the sink next to him, just as the main door opened and what sounded like two young girls came in.

  
“Do your magic.” Bucky left to serve them, while Clint finished his (Steve’s) desert and started licking up the plate.

  
Steve mixed everything together in a small bowl, wettened the rag and started scrubbing away the coffee. It almost worked. Almost being that the stains were still visible, just much lighter. He sighed, asking Clint quietly whether he knows if there’s a brush somewhere in here. Barton nodded enthusiastically, putting his plates away and getting a cleaning brush from under the sink. Now, this worked much better and the rest came off in no time. In the meantime, the voices went silent as the customers left.

  
“You finished destroying my clothes?” Bucky asked, before returning and seeing the results. “Holy cow, it worked.”

  
“I rinsed it but you still need to wash it later,” Steve said, not looking at him.

  
After a weird moment of silence and feeling eyes on him, Steve let out a breath he was holding when Clint started talking animatedly.

  
“Great! Both problems solved, I once again proved to be a great friend and an amazing person!” he chirped jokingly, and when the phone in his pocket started buzzing, he quickly moved out of the kitchen, “Shit, I gotta go back to Katie. I’m taking some rum balls for her!”

  
Bucky didn’t look, just waved him away, then stepped closer and reached out.

  
“James Barnes.”

  
Steve reluctantly shook his hand. It was a firm shake but not squeezing to the point of hurting.

  
“Steve Rogers… You prefer James or Bucky?”

  
“Bucky, only my ex is allowed to call me _‘James’_. You have a cat allergy, Steve?” Bucky returned to his usual position with arms crossed.

  
“No…” That sounded more like a question. 

  
“Good.”

  
“Why?”

  
“Because I have a cat. There may be fur on me.

  
Obviously. Jesus Christ, this is such an awkward conversation… 

  
“So. You’ll be making 8 bucks per hour, paid bi-weekly in cash. The place is open 6 days a week, but you’ll be working 5 days by default. The shop’s open from 11 AM to 9 PM, we’re closed on Wednesdays and we close early on Thursdays. You’re free on those two days. Your job is serving and selling what I make. If people eat on the spot, you clean up after them and bring the dishes to the kitchen. Sometimes I may need your help with something simple- like bringing me flour from the pantry.

  
“Overall, you keep the area clean - that DOES NOT include the kitchen, okay? I take care of the kitchen. At the end of the day, you clean up the floors, tables, the fridge, once in a while windows. It’s around 15 minutes of work and you’re doing it before closing, not after, so _you are_ free at nine.

  
“I don’t like slavery work, so you don’t have to pretend to work when everything’s clean and there are no customers. There’s a chair, you can read a book in your free time, sit on your phone or laptop, just don’t put it on the counter. Everything okay with you?”

  
“Yeah, everything’s great!” This is much better than Steve expected. Well, the pay wasn’t that amazing, not that far from the minimum wage, but it could be worse.

  
“Good. Now, I think you already noticed that we only sell brownies, but different kinds, so you need to know what you’re selling. You have any food allergies I should know about, Stevie?”

  
He can’t lie, his brain did a funny thing after hearing that endearment. “I… I’m allergic to cauliflower.”

  
Bucky blinked slowly.

  
“Not really important when it comes to brownies, but noted.” He moved to the front fridge and placed a cake on a fresh plate. “Come ’ere. Try this.”

  
It was the one Clint ordered for himself, the mushy one. It didn’t look bad, the base had a nice dark colour and seemed very dense and wet. On it, there was a barely holding together layer of what looked like half-cooked batter. Wasn’t the most inviting cake, but Steve tried it. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  
“It’s…”

  
“Not what you expected, huh?” Bucky smirked. “These are mushy brownies. It’s more like a pudding with chunks of fudge. People who are into eating cake batter or cookie dough really like those ‘cause the pudding part has this floury taste to it.”

  
“It’s not too sweet,” he noticed and could swear it made Bucky’s lip corner move a tiny bit higher.

  
“Very good catch, Steve, it’s not too sweet at all. Most bakers use sugar to hide the fact that their cakes doesn’t have any flavour, I use actual flavours instead of adding in a fuck-ton of sugar. People seem to like it that way too.” He took Steve’s plate and placed another chunk. “Next one, cakey. You don’t have to finish it all, you can take it home later.”

  
This one was the complete opposite, it was tall, looked light and fluffy, and had a beautiful brown colour. The flavour was amazing- very rich and chocolatey, more bitter cocoa than sugar. There was also something else, a different taste lingering in his mouth.

  
“Wow… And it’s not dry or-”

  
“No, absolutely not, there’s nothing worse than a dry cake. You know why people don’t like cakey brownies? In most cases it’s not a brownie, it’s just a fucking sand cake made out of milk chocolate. I use dark chocolate for everything and instead of sugar - I use glucose, that gives them this chewiness. To make up for eventual the lack of sweetness, I add coffee-”

  
“Coffee?” Steve asked, “But it doesn’t taste like coffee.”

  
“It doesn’t. A bit of coffee elevates chocolate, it doesn’t overwhelm it.”

  
Steve thought it was hot. Not the cake - Bucky. The confidence, his satisfied smirk, the spark in his eyes. He seemed so full of passion for baking that it made him look physically bigger. When he was explaining how ingredients work together and how _he_ made these so good, he was fully in his element, honestly enjoying the process of describing everything. Steve tried his best to focus back on the brownie.

  
“What is it?” He still couldn’t identify this lingering flavour. “It’s like… cinnamon?”

  
“Among others. It’s ginger spice.” Bucky looked very proud, also seemed content that Steve noticed. “Just like the Spanish Inquisition - no one expects ginger spice in a cakey brownie, but it’s a perfect match. Not a lot of it, so you don’t immediately think of Christmas but enough to feel it on your tongue.”

  
Steve thought for a second that he would like to taste something else on his tongue.

  
“And now the best for last.” Barnes took the plate with leftovers and placed the last brownie next to them.

  
“Why the best?”

  
“ ‘Cause I fucking perfected it.”

  
He looked so sure Steve almost believed him without trying, and then when he tried… His eyes closed, brows furrowed and he let out a groan he didn’t know he was capable of. It _was_ perfect.

  
“Oh wow.” When he opened his eyes, he caught Bucky immediately correcting expression, he did notice Barnes closing his mouth but missed the rest. It wasn’t important anyway.

  
“Right? There are chunks of 60% chocolate in it, the chocolate I use for the batter is 80%,” Barnes said, then cleared his throat.

  
“What does it mean? The percents?” Steve asked shyly, he felt stupid for not knowing.

  
“How much cocoa is inside,” Bucky answered, giving him a weak smile, and Steve thanked him inside for not being condescending about it.

  
Right after that, some clients went inside and well, that was Steve’s training. He spent the rest of the day right by Bucky’s side, observing and learning what to do and how. The job seemed simple and the customers nice, also excited that someone new will be working there.

  
_“We’re going mainly by the word of mouth and build a base of regulars. If we sell on average 4 cakes per hour, we’re good. If the sales go down by more than 15%- I’ll starve and if they’ll go down by more than 25%, I’m fucked.”_

_  
__“How are you doing now?”_

 _  
__“Very good, but I won’t lie, it’s mostly because offices nearby have these ‘sweet Mondays’, so every Monday I make like 250 bucks extra just from them.”_

  
It was nice. Steve even helped him a bit with cleaning and Bucky slipped into his hand two 20 dollar bills, when they shook hands.

  
“You’re closing early today?” Steve asked while Barnes started recounting cash.

  
“Yeah, it’s Thursday. We close early on Thursdays.”

  
“Oh, right. So~ can I consider myself employed or-”

  
“Tomorrow is your first day, I’ll let you know after we close. Be here at 10:30,” Bucky cut him.

  
“Okay… Um, goodbye then, until tomorrow!”

  
Steve slowly backtracked out of the bakery, with Bucky only responding with an unfocused “ ‘morrow”. What kind of answer is that? Well, he decided he shouldn’t dwell on that because he just got a fucking job. He should probably buy Clint flowers and whatnot.

  
His stomach growled and he looked at the paperboard package with brownie leftovers. He shouldn’t eat cake for dinner, he knew that and by some miracle, he had enough energy to get something proper. After buying himself dinner, he returned to the hotel and then proceeded to slap his forehead.

  
"Fuck."

_  
Right. I got a job, but still nowhere to live._

  
Steve took off his jacket and sat on the bed to recount his money. A bit under 550 bucks. Enough to pay a deposit (if the deposit is monthly rent, not some number taken out of their asses), but then he wouldn’t have anything to eat for next two weeks, or until his first pay. If the deposit is higher, like 1000 or even 2000 dollars, then he'll have to live in a hotel or move to a shelter or some shit. He needs to ask Bucky to pay him daily, just for the first week. Fuck.

  
_Okay, just explain to him your situation. Tell him you just need a little bit, even being paid every second or third day would be great. IT WILL BE FINE._


	2. Cat in The Sack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for not updating! I had problems with my job, and then the virus thing, and then my university, and I'm just sorry... The whole outline for this story is ready, so that's good!
> 
> See End Notes for a TRIGGER WARNING

It was not fine.

  
Next day, Steve was so stressed he came to work almost half an hour earlier, just a few minutes after Bucky opened up steel curtains protecting the shop’s windows. He couldn’t squeak out even a single word about his living situation, he just stood awkwardly, mentally preparing himself to say absolutely nothing, while Bucky hanged his freshly washed jacket and started putting his hair up.

  
“Don’t just stand there, put on your apron.”

  
Barnes pointed at the red-and-pink cloth with his chin, before walking away towards the fridge and taking out plastic-wrapped bowls of batter. Steve moved, his eyes still glued to his boss, who proceeded to unwrap the bowls, stir the batter a little and pour the contents out into prepared yesterday trays, glancing from time to time at Rogers trying to tie the apron behind his back.

  
“You look good today, Stevie, did somethin’ with your beard?” he asked, slamming the trays against the counter.

  
Steve could only smile at him and nod, partly because he wasn’t still able to speak much but also because he got a bubbly feeling in his belly. He actually did take care of his beard and Bucky noticed. It was a small way of relaxing his body and taking away any unwanted thoughts - cleaning it, trimming, conditioning and oiling.

  
Barnes put the trays into the oven and set three timers on- a lemon one, a frog one and a cat one. Steve didn’t really know what to do with himself, he hasn’t gotten any orders, so after winning the battle with his apron, he just stood awkwardly in the kitchen’s entrance. Meanwhile, Bucky cleaned his hands and suited up into his own uniform.

  
“Wait a sec,” he said after looking at Steve, raising his hands to grab him, but stopping mid-air, “Can I touch you?”

  
“Uhh… yeah? I mean- yeah.”

  
It was the second thing Steve said that day, after hello, - to a weird question - but at least it broke him out of muteness. Barnes proceeded to unbutton the first three rows of his shirt, roll up the sleeves above elbow, then manhandle Steve to turn around and tighten his apron so it fitted him snugly.

  
“That’s better.” He turned Steve to face him, though this time with more tenderness. “Didn’t notice your muscles under those layers you wore yesterday. It’s always good to show off a bit for the customers, especially women- Unless you’re not comfortable with that.” He looked at Steve warily.

  
“No, no- I’m fine, that’s not a problem.”

  
“Alright, if you change your mind feel free to… change. It’s just a suggestion.”

  
Steve really was okay with it. He wasn’t interested in women anyway, so it flattered him on a good day and on a bad day he could just tell himself these women have bad taste.

  
“Okay, so!” Bucky clapped his hands loudly, moving towards him with a basket full of what looked like chocolate balls. Steve hasn’t even noticed when he went to get them. “This is something I forgot about yesterday but do almost every day.” Barnes got one out of the basket and held it at mouth level. “Rumballs.”

  
_He clearly wants me to eat it. I can eat it out of his hand. I don’t know if that’s his intent. He is your boss and that would be inappropriate. Play it safe._

  
Steve slowly took the small cake out of Bucky’s fingers and took a bite. It was good but he didn’t like the alcohol aftertaste.

  
“I make them with leftover brownies and any cake scraps. Mix it with melted chocolate chips, rum and cherry vodka, cover with cocoa powder and refrigerate overnight. We sell them for a buck apiece. Any questions?”

  
“Is there a bathroom?”

  
“Oh, right! Yeah, these white door at the end of the wall, I’m surprised you didn’t ask yesterday. Now, here’s how you open a new day on the cash machine-”

  
His first day went surprisingly well. He didn’t mess up any orders, the receipts checked out and the customers were lovely. He immediately got what Barnes was saying- it was mostly women. On the first half of his shift older women, and on the second younger girls and teenagers, many of which stayed to eat on the spot and give him looks.

  
Around 5 PM Bucky came out of the kitchen, asking Steve if he brought any dinner. Well, he didn’t- he wasn’t used to eating at work. After 10 minutes, Barnes returned with a small bowl of egg fried rice with green beans on the side, handed it to him, then disappeared in the kitchen before Steve could refuse. The dinner was extremely simple but delicious and well seasoned. He was blushing the whole time he was eating it.

  
At the end of the day, they were fully sold out, which made Barnes visibly happy.

  
“Nice work today, Rogers, customers love you!” He slapped his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You even made the old crone Darkholm smile, I have no idea how…”

  
“Which one was that?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows, while Bucky returned to his default position with crossed arms.

  
“Redheaded witch-bat, one that came here with her blind wife.”

  
“Oh! They were so nice!” They really were and they also seemed a cute couple.

  
Barnes scrunched his nose. “Every time she sees me, I think she wants to boil me alive.”

  
“Yeah… She didn’t seem too keen on you when you came out of the kitchen.”

  
“So.” Bucky started after a moment. “How do you feel? ‘Cause I’m in if you are.”

  
_Oh. The Talk. Fuck._

  
“That’s… I mean- I really enjoyed today and I like the job, so I would love to make it official-,” Steve started and couldn’t finish, seeing how Bucky’s expression fell a bit.

  
“I sense a ‘but’,” he said with a hint of sadness, but Steve interpreted it as mostly disappointment and he quickly started blurting out words to keep his mind from spiralling.

  
“But… I-I wanted to talk to you about one thing… You see… Well-”

  
“Hit me with it, Rogers, no bullshit.”

  
_Uh-oh, he’s getting pissed._

  
“Is it possible to pay me daily?” Steve spat it out, closing his eyes.

  
Silence.

  
“What?” He opened them carefully and even if someone offered to pay him a million dollars, he could not define what was his boss’s expression, apart from the fact that it wasn’t happy. “I think I made it very clear yesterday that you will be paid every two weeks, and specifically asked you if you were okay with terms, and you said you were.”

  
“Yes! And I am! I just… forgot.”

  
“Forgot?”

  
Bad thoughts started appearing in his head and he tried his best not to have an attack. This situation was too stressing for him. Steve sat down on a nearby chair and started scratching his palm. But stealthily, so Bucky wouldn’t notice. He heard a deep sigh.

  
“Okay, I need some context here - why do you need to be paid daily?” Bucky asked and Steve wanted to cry but knew he couldn’t.

  
“Because… I don’t really have anywhere to live.”

  
“Excuse me?” He sounded like a disappointed parent that just heard about his kid beating someone up.

  
“I just moved here from New York, like three days ago, and-and I don’t… really have a flat or a room or whatever. I live in a hotel at the moment.”

  
“Are you fucking kidding me-”

  
“So I could pay a deposit on a flat, ‘cause I have like 500 in saving, but then I’ll kinda need to eat, so-”

  
“Steve, for deposit you need at least a thousand.” Steve couldn’t look at him but he saw in the corner of his eye that Bucky was pinching the bridge of his nose. “What’re you gonna do then? If you need to eat and get another 500?”

  
“I dunno. Maybe I’ll find like a shelter or something, or stay at the hotel.”

  
_Terrible idea._

  
“Oh, that’s a great fucking plan…”

  
Bucky spread his arms, then released a long breath, then Steve could feel his gaze on himself. Barnes hid his face in his palms and started throwing quiet curses into his fingers.

  
“I have an extra room in my apartment, you can stay there, BUT-” he cut before Rogers said anything, “I will cut off some of your pay and it’s not permanent. It’s only for a bit, okay? Until you get enough for your deposit and some extra so you don’t starve. There will be no deposit but if you destroy something, I’m taking it from your salary.”

  
Steve’s mind was blank. So blank it must have shown on his face since Bucky backed away into the kitchen and took a dishwasher capsule down from the cupboard. To give him a moment, supposedly.

  
“I don’t know what to say,” Steve finally said, truthfully.

  
“Then don’t say anything.” Barnes got up, tossed the capsule from one hand to another, and disappeared behind the wall to turn the dishwasher on. “Go grab your stuff and come back here ASAP, got it?”

  
“Yeah… Yeah, thank you so much!” he yelled back.

  
The whole journey back to the hotel seemed to completely blur in Steve’s mind. Maybe it was the endorphins from not being fired on the spot, maybe he was happy that he will not starve to death or maybe his brain got stupid-happy from the prospect of living with Barnes.

  
As much as Steve didn’t like to admit it- he thought his boss was absolutely beautiful. Intimidating, yes, but also beautiful. Whenever he acted awkwardly, it was mostly because his stupid brain told him to ‘stop making Bucky uncomfortable’, even though in later recollection Bucky never seemed to be uncomfortable around him. Admittedly, they only knew each other for a day and a half, but they did spend together the last 11 hours. Kinda… Most of the time they were in different rooms but still-

  
_Working with him is so nice and he complimented my beard! It felt good, he said I have nice muscles no he hasn’t said that well he kinda said it he was not flirting with me was he? no he wasn’t you were not flirting with him either i should take the towels off mirrors fuck i could’ve let him feed me that rumball he didn’t want to feed you why did he put it so close to my mouth i want to know how his reaction would look like if i did that women liked him a lot of women older asked about him younger giggled asking where he was i saw him wink at one of them but she was almost as old as Peggy where are my pills he was just being nice or maybe he’s one of those who like older people would i look good in grey hair? why do i look for them i still won’t be taking them Peggy is disappointed he’s not gay Clint called him sweetie and baby but Clint seems to be very open with everyone so it doesn’t mean anything where is my i don’t think it does Clint is nice he has a nice smile i like Clint he helped me fixed everything i owe him i’ll never repay him what can i fucking offer to him he called him baby they are together they are not together they gave each other the look they are together Bucky sucked on his finger god that was so hot don’t think about him like that it’s disgusting you’re disgusting why the fuck do you have to be like this everyone is so nice to you and you won’t ever be able to repay them in any way they should leave you to fucking starve on the street wonder how fucking long would it take to start selling you ass for food not fucking long for sure who would even want you you’re so full of yourself isn’t that fucking flattering no one would pay you to sleep with you no one would even agree if you paid them money check money one two three four five okay should be everything don’t do anything disgusting keys the receptionist you’re a fucking predator she’s rude i don’t want a refund so stop bitching about it i shouldn’t have said that i didn’t said that i should apologize i haven’t said anything do i hate women i don’t think so fuck why do i have to be like that no wonder she left me i should fucking kill myself just like she did car jump into it fuck you missed it you fucking moron next one no don’t jump you’ll cause a problem there’s a kid he’ll see you you’ll scar him people will be late even when you die you’re a fucking problem- I’m here?_

  
He was. The light was only on in the kitchen, and windows were secured for the night. Steve took a couple of steadying breaths and forced his mind to blank out. The door was closed so when he was sure not to freak out, he knocked until Barnes came out and let him in.

  
“Okay, I’m here,” Steve chatted up.

  
“I can see that.” Bucky lowered a steel curtain after Steve got inside, locked it, then closed the door. His tone was quite different from earlier, more cheerful perhaps? “Alright, come with me, we’re going upstairs.”

  
“You live here?”

  
“Yeah,“ Bucky admitted and asked with raised eyebrows, “Is that a problem?”

  
“No, not at all, at least I won’t have to worry about getting up late to work,” he tried to joke and was happy when Bucky smiled softly in response.

  
They went through the kitchen to the wooden door, one with ‘NO ENTRY’ sign, and up the stairs to the tiny landing filled with shoes and hanging coats. There was also a small shelf with a clean ashtray, where Bucky threw the keys.

  
There were no other doors to the flat, the stairs lead straight to the living room with a kitchenette and Steve noted a small pile of junk crammed into a small space between the wall and the railing. The walls were white and furniture black with pillows in various shades of grey, similarly to a huge bean-bag near the window. Also _a lot_ of plants, both hanging from the ceiling and in pots on the ground.

  
A white cat meowed loudly and run up to them. Bucky meowed back and picked the cat up with one hand, placing it securely against his peck and bicep. The cat looked at Steve and let out a deep growl that weirdly didn’t seem to be threatening.

  
“Steve - this is Alpine, she’s my cat. Alpine - this is Steve, he’ll be living here for a while.” Bucky grinned at Alpine, she turned to him with a half-purr half-meow. He mimicked her in response.

  
Steve thought he must have a fever dream.

  
“Hi, Alpine...” Steve carefully reached out to pet her, but the cat puffed, pushed her leg into Bucky’s arm and after he put her down, walked away towards the kitchen with an upturned tail.

  
“Don’t take it personally, you’ll grow on her.” Barnes huffed a laugh. “Leave your bags somewhere here, we’ll make a place for you in a sec,” he spoke while going up to the fridge and taking out eggs, oil and other ingredients, “Left door is my bedroom, the right door will be yours. One next to stairs is the bathroom. You okay with omelettes for supper? Anything you don’t like? You’re vegan? No, you can’t be, you ate an egg - vegetarian?”

  
“I’m okay with everything that doesn’t have asparagus or courgette in it. Or vinegar. Or too much sugar.”

  
_Am I a picky eater?_

  
“Brussel sprouts?”

  
“Only if they don’t taste like farts.” Steve made him laugh and could feel butterflies in his stomach. Bucky was so nice when he wasn’t angry… which was kind of an obvious observation after a second thought.

  
“Got it. In the meantime, why don’t you unpack your stuff to the bathroom, soaps and shit- the upper shelves should be empty.” Barnes pointed at the door and started chopping something.

  
Going to the bathroom, Steve almost tripped over Alpine, who came out of nowhere and completely ignored him, walking up to her owner. The bathroom was almost exactly the same as the bakery one downstairs, aside from the shower and being filled to the brim with plants. A huge fern was hanging from the wall, there was a collection of small aloe veras on the cabinet and one beside the toilet that in the darkness could look like a giant spider.

  
Steve quickly unpacked himself into the cabinet, noticing fragrances Bucky used and feeling proud of himself since yesterday he guessed the cologne from the jacket correctly. Barnes didn’t seem to notice when Steve got out, so he just took the chance to observe his new roommate at the stove. The kitchenette was quite small, kept in grey tones. It also looked to be well equipped, at least by Steve’s standards, with a knife set, hanging measuring cups and different kinds of chopping boards. At the end of the counter, near the stairs, stood a very high stool with a cushion tied to it. Alpine was sitting there in her cat-bread-like pose, very interested in what her owner was doing.

  
Bucky was holding something that looked like scallions, he sliced them in half, then took one and reached out to… Alpine. The cat smelled it, squinting her eyes, then licked her nose, while Bucky returned to chopping. There was a pan with something sizzling quietly on the stove, or it was quiet until he threw the scallion-onion-somethings in it. Then he quickly proceeded to make omelette... batter? giving Alpine all ingredients to smell. He separated one yolk from the rest, threw it onto a small plate and gave to his cat. Judging by her tail, it made her very excited.

  
Steve seemed to be entranced by the cuteness of Alpine eating for quite a bit since he returned to earth with Barnes yelling that the food is ready. He placed the plates with omelettes on the table and they both sat to eat.

  
“What is it?”

  
“Omelettes with mushrooms and green onions. It's made with additional flour, they do that in some European countries. Like a pancake but different.”

  
_Green onions, not scallions. Isn’t it the same thing?_

  
Steve tried it and immediately thought that he just won life if Bucky will keep making him food.

  
“Wow, you’re a great cook!”

  
“I know.” Bucky sent him a cocky smile and winked. Steve tried focusing on the meal and not thinking about his face going red. “Look, Steve…”

  
A change in tone. A big one, big enough Steve looked up from his plate. Bucky seemed uneasy and was not looking in his direction.

  
“I’m sorry. I was an asshole, both yesterday and today, even though you were clearly in need.” Steve had no idea what to say to this, so Barnes just continued. “And hey, you fixed my jacket, it’s as good as new, and I’m not surprised we bumped into each other if you had no job and no home, it must've been fucking hard... So again, I apologize.”

  
He finally looked at him and Steve’s heart got cut into pieces.

  
_he’s sad because of you fix it quickly fix it now it’s your fault fix it say something fix it-_

  
“No, no wonder you were pissed, I can be a lot,” he said to silence himself, “Thanks, Buck.”

  
“ _Buck_?"

  
Steve raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like it?”

  
“No… no, I like it,” Bucky responded with a warm smile and Rogers saw some colour on his cheeks but quickly told himself to stop projecting.

  
They spent the rest of the meal talking, mostly about Steve’s past. That he’s from Brooklyn, that his mother passed, about his Aunt Peggy and what she’s like. The trip, how he got to Indiana- almost the whole story, with an emphasis on _almost_ but Bucky was not pushing, letting Steve release it all out on his own instead. In the meantime, Alpine finished eating her egg yolk, so she went up to Bucky to scrounge some of his omelette.

  
“Alright, let’s get you inside your room,” Bucky started after they cleaned up their plates and the cat got her piece, “You’ll probably notice the room isn’t very furnished, I use it only when guests come around and we watch movies and have a drink.

  
He was not lying. The was only a huge blueish couch with a weird cupboard above it, filled with bottles of vodka, rum, whiskey and other similar drinks. A coffee table stood in the middle with a projector on it and that’s it. Oh, and there was a plant on the windowsill because of course there was. 

  
“The couch is a murphy bed, we’ll set it up in a moment. You can use all these shelves, but first I’ll have to take out the alcohol.”

  
“Alright, let’s do it.”

  
Bucky smiled at him, reaching out to grab half-empty liquor bottles and taking them out to the kitchen, while Steve moved his bag and pushed the table to the side. They prepared the bed and Bucky reassured him that the sheets are clean and not used.

  
“So is there like a place to put my clothes in or do I keep them in the bag?”

  
“There should be a small dresser in the storage room.” He pointed behind himself after a moment of thinking. Steve thought Bucky looked cute with furrowed eyebrows.

  
“You have a storage room?”

  
“Yeah, this pile of trash next to the stairs, we can move it, come on.”

  
On closer inspection, the storage room was… a lot. Of everything.

  
“Wow…”

  
“Look, it’s a controlled mess,” Barnes argued half-heartedly, trying to locate the dresser under towers of boxes, “It’s here, let’s move these boxes. I’ll give them to you and you put them away on the ground, alright?”

  
The first three boxes were easy, the next one was tricky since Bucky decided to move at once two of them stacked on top of each other. Yes, the top box almost fell on his head, if not for Steve who caught it last second. They froze for a moment like that, with Rogers holding the surprisingly heavy box over Bucky’s head and he could swear he heard him inhale deeply. The second quickly passed and they moved away from each other, Barnes thanking him, weirdly out of breath, while Steve peaked inside. The box was filled with two cans of white paint, a couple of tubes with paint in basic colours and lots of brushes, among other things.

  
“You’re a painter?”

  
“What?” Bucky noticed the box. “Oh. No, my friend gave me a set for my birthday- I think it was an easel, a couple of canvases and paints and brushes and stuff.” He nodded towards the folded easel pushed against the back wall.

  
“You’re not using them?”

  
“Nah, I’d rather work with food than paint.” Bucky looked him up and down with narrowed eyes. “Why do you ask? You wanna use ‘em, you’re an artist?”

  
“I’m not an artist, I just like to paint…”

  
Steve didn’t just like to paint, he loved it. He went to art school for it, even managed to sell a couple of his paintings before his moods started eating up his creative energy. Even with that in mind, he still always had a sketchbook in his pocket, just in case.

  
Bucky smiled at him. “Alright, you can use it but I’m keeping one of your paintings, deal?”

  
“Deal.” Steve smiled back.

  
“Great, here are the canvases.” He slid a big package from behind the dresser to put it aside, then jumped onto the piece of furniture, while Rogers tried to not think about what is at his eyes level. “And let’s get you that easel.”

  
After some bickering, they managed to move every painting supply, and the dresser as well, to Steve’s new room. And even though it technically was supposed to be Steve’s, Bucky went out of his way to place everything in a way the room didn’t feel empty. He even disappeared for a moment to return with pots in his hands. One plant looked like a miniature palm tree, and the other like it had a white nervous system.

  
“What are you doing?”

  
“Bringing some life in here,” Bucky said, his eyes focused on the little palm tree before him. He moved it closer to the easel, whole eight inches. “It’s not normally a living space so I keep the plants to the minimum, but since it’s your room now, my sense of aesthetic demands more green.”

  
“You should be an interior decorator,” Steve laughed.

  
“Nah, it has to be my way, I can’t compromise on bed cover color or which window is going to have a pot on it.” Bucky grinned in response, crossing his arms. “Baking’s easier. The ingredients are always the same and the kitchen’s supposed to be clean and functional, not fashionable. Anyways… I guess that’s it.”

  
“Can… I have a question?”

  
“You don’t have to ask, just ask the question.” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows again and Steve noticed a small wrinkle between them. It was also cute.

  
“How much will you cut from my pay?”

  
Barnes started rubbing his eyes and temples, clearly not wanting to think about the subject.

  
“Utilities and food, so like… three hundred? Three, four hundred monthly? Something like that. I won’t take rent from you, that’ll be fucked up.” He sighed. “So let’s say I’ll cut 150 bucks from your pay every two weeks you’re living here. So that’s 800 minus 150, that’ll leave you with 650 dollars. You’ll get your deposit but not for living, so at least you’ll be here for a month. Is that okay?”

  
“Yeah, that’s fine with me.” _If every day will be like today, I don’t really wanna move out… Wha-?_ “Thank you so much. Again.”

  
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged, waving his hand. “Go get some sleep, Stevie. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

  
“Goodnight, Buck.”

  
“Night.” He glanced at Steve and walked out quickly, closing the door behind him.

  
His heart fluttered. And then somersaulted. Because Bucky was such a kind person, he did so much for him, basically saved his life by giving a feeling of security, and yeah, Steve had to break through his shell or wall or whatever, but it was worth it! Bucky even apologized for his behaviour even though he had every right to be angry. And the paints, and the dinner, and the nickname, and the way he smiled, and-

  
_I have a crush on my boss. Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: at one point a character has self-deprecating spiralling thoughts. It's written as a stream of consciousness, so it can be triggering to some people - you'll recognize it when you see it, just skip this one paragraph


End file.
